


Say Something

by it_was_like_slow_motion



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-10 04:46:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/it_was_like_slow_motion/pseuds/it_was_like_slow_motion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt Smith is an ex-Olympic gymnast with a past he prefers not to talk about, and Alex Kingston is an actress who would rather forget her two failed marriages as she moved onto a new life. </p><p>aka an AU where Matt and Alex meet on ER.</p><p>*THIS IS BEING PUT ON HIATUS FOR THE TIME BEING. I WILL ATTEMPT TO RESUME AT A LATER DATE*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Brave New World

He came onto the set the first day with crutches under each of his arms.

His strides were long, but slightly uneven, as he tried to navigate through the throng of people to get to the table that he had been told was for the read-through. He was rather proud of the fact that he had yet to trip someone as he slid into the chair, tucking the crutches underneath the table as best as he could.

He ducked his head as he pulled his script out, bringing it back up as he smoothed the sheaf of paper down as he allowed his eyes to wander the room. He had watched the first two seasons of ER, and the third one was to start airing soon; they were about to start filming the fourth season, and still couldn’t bring himself to believe that he would be limping among them, as a part of their world.

Someone slid into the seat next to him and he shifted his crutches with his uninjured foot so they could move their feet around beneath the table as they pleased.

He considered initiating conversation for a moment, before finally registering who was sitting beside him. Anthony Edwards. Matt bit his lip and went back to his script, pencil held delicately in between his teeth as he made a few casual marks on every page; overtop his scribbles in red and blue and black pens.

“You are painfully shy, aren’t you?” Anthony asked after a few minutes of silence.

Matt removed the pencil from between his lips and opened his mouth to respond, and found himself squeaking instead. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Something like that, yes.”

“From across the pond?” Tony inquired lightly. Matt nodded.

“You look familiar…” The older man continued. “Have I seen you before?”

“Not that I know of, no.” Matt replied. “I was on a few small plays back in Britain, but I suppose you wouldn’t have seen those.”

“No, I wouldn’t have.” Tony bit his lip. “Give me a couple minutes, it’ll come to me.”

“Whatever you say, mate.” Matt said, turning back to his script.

“What’d you do to your leg?” Tony asked after a period of comfortable silence.

“Sprained my knee and my ankle.” Matt replied with a shrug. “It’s kind of mild compared to what I normally get off with.”

“Hurting yourself is a regular deal?” Tony arched an eyebrow.

“I am – was – a gymnast. We get hurt a lot.” Matt said lightly.

“A gymnast. Interesting.” Tony nodded.

“A bit painful, too.” Matt scrunched up his nose. “I’ve broken both of my wrists twice each, and my ankle once, not to mention all of the sprains. Makes for good pain tolerance, though.”

“Isn’t it a bit strange to want to be in a show about a hospital when you’ve spent loads of time in one for real?” Tony asked.

“Not really.” Matt said, voice non-committal. “I liked hospitals, actually. They were quiet and smelled nice.”

Tony chuckled at Matt’s statement. “How did you go from a gymnast to an actor, anyways?”

“That involves some childhood dreams, an excursion to Greece, and my mother wanting me to go to college. Kind of a boring story, I’ll tell it to you someday if you still want to hear it.”

Tony nodded, cocking his head thoughtfully. “Sounds like you’ve had an interesting life.”

“Pretty atypical, yeah.” Matt smiled. “At least I can do a back handspring on command, though.”

“I’d imagine not with an injured ankle and knee.” Tony challenged.

“Try me.” Matt raised his eyebrows in askance, and Tony nodded to an empty space, solidifying the challenge in his words. Matt got up from his chair slowly, using it for balance before hopping over to the centre of the space. He checked behind himself carefully before taking a deep breath, bending his good knee, and springing himself backwards, his hands touching the ground momentarily before he flipped himself upright again, softening his knee so he stuck the one-footed landing.

Tony whistled appreciatively. “I’ll be damned.”

A slow clapping came from somewhere behind Matt, and he turned around to see a small congregation of actors, who had apparently materialized while he was in midair.

Smiling as his cheeks flushed in embarrassment, Matt raised his hand in recognition of the praise before hobbling back to his seat, wincing when he put a bit too much weight on his leg and pain shot through his ankle, and then burned up his knee and to his hip.

“When you said you were a gymnast, I didn’t think you were a _gymnast_.” Tony said emphatically.

“I am, as you say, a _gymnast_.” Matt rolled his eyes. “I have some pretty medals in my room back home to prove it, too!”

“Pretty medals?” Another actor scoffed, sitting on the other side of Matt without so much as an introduction. Matt knew his name from his mother’s religious watching of the show, though. Eriq.

“They’re shiny and gold and say ‘Olympics’ on them.” Matt chuckled.

Eriq choked on his words. “What?”

“‘Britain’s Golden Boy Runs To America’.” An unfamiliar voice, similarly accented to Matt’s, joined the fray. “It was a big deal back home when he decided to come here.”

“There was a bunch of shite about how I was ignoring my destiny by becoming an actor, it was all quite amusing.” Matt snorted.

“My favorite one was how you were trying to deny the mistakes of your youth by also denying the successes you had.” The woman who had spoken previously sat down next to Eriq, stretching languidly as she continued bantering with Matt.

“Ooh, I haven’t read that one!” Matt exclaimed happily. “Where was that?”

“The Sun.” The woman laughed.

“That explains why I haven’t read it, then.” Matt wrinkled his nose. “Not like you got off any better, though. ‘Moll’s Bloody New Future’?” He rolled his eyes. “It’s like they’re trying to take a piss with the whole nation.”

“Have you heard the one where we’re supposedly together and running away from the British media to conceal my pregnancy?” She bit her lip in amusement.

Matt guffawed. “You have a knack for finding these things, don’t you?”

“Do you two know each other?” Tony asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

“No.” Matt shrugged. “We are united by awful British tabloids, though. We might as well be married by now.”

“If you think your paparazzi are bad.” The woman rolled her eyes. “You should come take a vacation in Britain.”

“Matt Smith.” Matt said belatedly, extending his hand.

The woman’s eyes shined in amusement as she took it and shook it firmly. “Alex Kingston.”

“Pleasure to meet you acquaintance, Alex.” Matt winked, squeezing her hand softly before letting it drop.

“Likewise.” She smiled.

Matt couldn’t help but feel like he was entering a brave new world. Perhaps, with Alex Kingston by his side, it would be a little less scary.


	2. A High Standard

It was five hours and several innuendos later before they were able to talk again. The entire cast huddled around a table, quickly tucking into their lunches.

Matt yawned in between bites of food, squeezing his eyes shut and then rubbing them vigorously in an attempt to stay awake.

“Jet lag is hell.” He mumbled, more to himself than anyone else as he shoveled another bite of his lunch into his mouth.

“When’d you get in, anyways?” Alex asked. “I came a week and a half ago to get adjusted.”

“I got in at three this morning.” Matt said after he swallowed, yawning again. “And by that time there was no point in going to bed, because I’d just wake up feeling even crabbier.” He paused, and then shuddered. “I hate planes.”

“Didn’t you have to fly to Athens?” Alex raised her eyebrows.

“It wasn’t a nice commercial airline flight.” Matt grimaced at the memory. “It was me, my mum, my dad, and the pilot, flying in a rickety old plane twenty thousand feet over the Mediterranean Sea. It was easily the most nerve-wracking moment of my life.”

“So you’ve been in the Olympics,” Noah asked, taking a neat bite of his peanut butter sandwich before continuing, “And the most terrifying experience in your life wasn’t being televised live to hundreds of millions of people all over the world, but rather _flying_ there?”

“I’d like to see you try it.” Matt muttered darkly, the effect ruined as he yawned again.

“I’m still kind of baffled that you even decided to switch careers.” Laura spoke up, depositing the contents of a Jell-O container into her mouth with a reckless abandon that made Matt chuckle.

“I was fifteen, and I was ridiculed for being a gymnast.” Matt shrugged. “My friends found it amusing to tease me about it. I found it funny for a while, until they started saying that if I could win the Olympics then any old sod could do it, too.” He took a deep breath, controlling the anger that curled in his gut. “I burned all my bridges and wanted to start over. I kept up with the gymnastics as a hobby, of course.”

“Fifteen and an Olympic gold medalist.” George commented, running a hand through his hair (having already finished his lunch). “Not like you’ve set any sort of standard for yourself or anything.”

Matt gave George a withering glance for his sarcasm. “It’s not like I had much of a choice in the matter, anyways. I wasn’t supposed to win.”

“You…weren’t supposed to win?” George repeated, suddenly confused. “The Olympics aren’t rigged.”

“I never said they were.” Matt maintained steadily. “But there were two British gymnasts in the Olympics that year.”

“You and that Aaron guy, yeah?” Alex clarified.

“Yes, Aaron Rischnovek.” Matt confirmed. “Nice bloke. Anyways, I was fifteen, and he was twenty three. Our coaches obviously thought that I had gotten in by a fluke, and Aaron was their main priority when we were training. I was left to my own devices.”

He paused to take a deep drink of his water before he continued. “You know, in your football, how you have – what do you call them? – right, ‘Hail Mary’ passes, something like that?”

“Hail Mary, passes that no one expects to catch, yeah.” Eriq nodded. “What does that have to do with your Olympic story?”

“Patience.” Matt soothed. “My floor routine was what you would call a Hail Mary. It was absolutely, ridiculously, _ludicrously_ hard. They formulated a routine they knew I wouldn’t be able to execute to give Aaron a better chance of winning. There are only eight competitors, and three medal spots, so with one competitor knocked out, he’d have a twelve percent better chance of winning.”

“That’s bullshit.” Julianna frowned.

“Utter bullshit.” Matt agreed. “But I was fifteen and didn’t know any better. So I went along with it.”

“What made it so hard?” Tony interrupted. “Sorry, but gymnastics all sort of looks the same to me.”

“Right, right.” Matt seemed suddenly frazzled. “So, an Arabian is a move that’s pretty much a backwards flip where you’re tucked into a ball. A double Arabian is two of those flips in a row, and a triple Arabian is three in a row. A regulation floor is just a little less springy than a trampoline, so getting three flips in a row in is pretty much unheard of. You just can’t get high enough off the ground.”

“So you did one of these triple Arabian things?” Laura interrupted.

“If only it was just one.” Matt shook his head, sighing deeply as he reminisced. “My first tumbling pass, I did two back handsprings into a pike flip, and then a triple Arabian. Honestly, it’s a wonder I didn’t snap my neck.”

“And then?” Julianna prompted.

“Then there was a break where I did this ridiculous handstand trick – I’d show you but it requires two good legs – that I had never done before in my life. That was interesting.” Matt laughed. “But then I did a series of three back layouts into a triple Arabian. Again, I have no idea how I didn’t crack my head open.”

“So basically you did impressive shit that no one expected you to be able to do?” George pressed. Matt furrowed his eyebrows for a moment before shrugging, relaxing his tense face.

“I suppose that’s a way you could put it.” He finally replied, voice carefully neutral.

“Dumb luck?” George pressed.

“George!” Julianna reprimanded him softly. “I’d like to see you even do a backbend, let alone a back handspring, _let alone_ a back handspring on one leg. Saying him winning the Olympics was dumb luck would be like saying – I don’t even know. But it’s _rude_ and you should apologize.”

George made a soft huffing sound, acknowledging the reprimand, but didn’t apologize. Matt stood awkwardly, swinging his injured leg out from under the table so he could hop, having abandoned his crutches, rather gracelessly, over to the trash can across the room. He could feel their eyes on him as he half-limped, half-jumped to the waste bin, and could practically hear their thoughts swirling in their heads, wondering if he would react; if he would take the harsh comment in stride, or if he would snap.

“Anyways, _that_ wasn’t expected.” Matt soldiered on, not bothering to sit down again once he had reached the table. “So I accidentally won a medal in the first event we had to do and it kind of…escalated from there?”

“So you won seven Olympic medals out of sheer stubbornness and unwillingness to let your coaches’ misgivings influence your performance?” Alex rephrased George’s previous phrase, making it seem so much more positive than he had.

Matt shrugged. “I guess?”

“Aaron what’s-his-face must have been pissed.” Gloria stated.

“Nah, he was actually kind of glad; thought it was absolutely insane what they were doing to both of us in order to try to win the first medals in gymnastics for our country in a long time. He’s a good mate of mine now.” Matt smiled brightly. “He won a few silvers in 2004 when I won the golds, and a few golds of his own in 2008. Said it was because I wasn’t there.” Matt rolled his eyes, obviously humored by the statement.

“Sounds like a nicer fellow than most.” George’s voice held an edge when he spoke again. “I wouldn’t want a young hotshot upstaging me, even if people were being irrational about the whole situation.”

Matt eyed George, who glared back coldly. “I suppose it’s a good thing that he had a big heart.” Matt stated carefully. “I value his friendship a lot.”

Alex cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Great story, Matt!” She said, voice a bit too bright. “Happy ending for all involved, yeah?”

“Indeed.” Matt finally ripped his eyes away from George’s. “There’s a bit more to the entire story than that, but another time, another day.” He offered another smile, finding himself falling into Alex’s bubble-gummy happiness that was obviously attempting to mask the rising tensions between himself and George.

“Back to the read through?” Julianna suggested, glancing between Matt and George, shooting a pointed look at Alex before the latter turned away, offering Matt her arm.

“’M fine, thanks.” He said smoothly as he began to hobble back to the table, biting his lip as sparks of pain began running up his spine again.

“For the record, I think it’s pretty damn cool.” Her voice was sudden in his ear, and he halted, sucking in a breath when she accidentally jarred his leg, standing on her tip toes in order to whisper to him. He smiled as best as he could while tired and still in pain, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see her smiling back.

Her lips pressed briefly into his cheek, warm and soft. He smiled as she walked back to the table, hips swaying slightly and he followed after her, hips more concerned with not feeling the pain in his left knee and ankle than looking unbelievably sexy.

Five hours and fourteen minutes after meeting her, Matt was absolutely entranced with one Alexandra Kingston, and nothing would ever be the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all your positive feedback on the first chapter! I've been toying with this idea for a while, so I know exactly where to go from here, and it's quite exciting! I haven't started the next chapter yet, but I'd expect it up by Wednesday at the latest.


	3. Teatime and Times Bygone

When Matt stumbled into his home ten hours later, he was at least seven sorts of cranky, and extremely ready for sleep. His cast mates were all going out for drinks, but he was sure as soon as he had his first sip of any sort of alcoholic beverage he’d be passed out in the glass.

Naturally, his phone rang just as he was climbing into bed. Deciding that whoever it was would have a pretty damn good reason for calling at half gone ten at night, he sighed and picked it up.

“Hullo?” He asked, voice slurred with tiredness.

“Matthew, your mother is freaking out.” Aaron began without preamble. “She didn’t actually think you’d have an actual job in America. She thought it was just some sort of stunt you were pulling for publicity – she is on the warpath, Matty. You are not going to get out of this alive.”

“My day was fine, thanks Aaron.” Matt quipped sarcastically. “What does my mum care what I do anyways? It’s not like she’s bothered to talk to me since I went off to college.”

“She’s going to take a plane to Los Angeles, Matt!” Aaron sputtered. “This isn’t some joking matter!”

“No way she’s taking a plane here.” Matt said dubiously, furrowing his eyebrows. He swung his legs out of his bed and stood up, attempting to pace, even with his injured left leg protesting the unnecessary movement.

“She totally is!” Aaron exclaimed. “What do you want me to do?”

“I – I don’t know. It’s not like you can stop her, can you?” Matt tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder, scrubbing his eyes vigorously with his hands. “And isn’t it like, six in the morning?”

“Six thirty eight.” Aaron informed him brightly. “I’ve been up for an hour because the kids I’m training don’t seem to understand the concept of breakfast and I’m making breakfast foods for them to sample.”

“Stop it, you’re making me miss your cooking.” Matt grumbled.

“You’re right, I can’t stop her.” Aaron hopped back to the other conversation effortlessly. “Right now I’m calling it as a fifty-fifty as to whether or not she’ll actually go.”

“That’s fifty more than I’d like.” Matt muttered darkly.

“Why else do you think I’d be calling?” Aaron pressed. “I just figured if she did show up at your doorstep, you should be a little bit prepared.”

Matt’s pacing froze when his doorbell rang.

“Has she left yet?” He asked frantically into the phone.

“No.” Aaron’s voice was confused.

“Someone’s at the door.” Matt said as way of explanation, limping down the stairs and towards the front of his house as fast as he could possibly manage while keeping his balance and listening to Aaron spout more shit about his mother and her whereabouts.

The doorbell rang again, more insistent, and Matt huffed before speeding up his hobbling, swinging the door open with a rather angry flourish as he pressed the phone against his chest.

“Julianna.” He greeted, confused by the dark-haired woman standing on his doorstep. “Come in.” He added a moment later, limping backwards so that she could enter his house.

Realizing the phone was still in his hand, Matt held it up to his ear again. Aaron was still babbling, and Matt sighed, rolling his eyes. “Someone’s here, I have to call you back later. Tell me if anything more develops, yeah?” He spoke, cutting his friend off.

“Yeah, yeah! Sleep well, Matty.”

“Have a good day, Aaron.” Matt offered a small smile that Aaron couldn’t see before the line went dead.

“Did I interrupt something?” Julianna asked as Matt led her into the kitchen, setting out two mugs for tea without thinking.

“Oh, no. Aaron was just informing me that my mother may be paying me a visit.” Matt said lightly, fishing his kettle out of the top of one of his many boxes that were strewn around his kitchen, also pinching a couple of Earl Grey tea bags. Filling the kettle with water and setting it on to boil, he turned back to face Julianna, leaning slightly on the counter as he plopped the teabags into their cups.

“Missing you already?” Julianna’s voice was amused.

“My parents and I have been estranged for a while.” Matt replied warily. “She didn’t think I was legitimately coming to America.”

“You just up and moved?” Julianna seemed shocked.

“My parents thought being a gymnast was a stupid career, and they thought being an actor was even stupider. I went to college like my mother asked, and she wasn’t pleased, nor was my father.” Matt shrugged. “So we stopped speaking , and here I am now, trying to figure out whether or not I’m going to have a guest for a week.”

“Your life really is more complicated than I thought.” Julianna sat down on one of the boxes that was functioning as a chair, peering up at Matt with curious hazel eyes.

“That’s not the half of it.” Matt ran his hand through his hair, hoping he didn’t look too tired as he leaned more heavily against the counter. “It’s so much easier to tell half the truth than to get into the details of the matter.”

“Black and white is easier to explain than gray area.” Julianna nodded wisely.

The kettle whistled, and Matt turned to busy himself with it. The kitchen was filled with comfortable silence as he poured the water into each of the tea cups.

“Milk or sugar?” He asked, searching through a box quickly to pull out some sugar packets and opening his fridge to find milk.

“Um…would you hate me if I’d never had tea before?” Julianna asked sheepishly.

“Oh, you poor soul.” Matt sighed, withdrawing his head from the refrigerator, a small carton of milk in hand.

“There’s a first time for everything?” Julianna asked, making puppy dog eyes at Matt.

“Alright. Wait a bit for the tea to cool and then we can begin your tea tasting experience.” Matt’s tiredness was wiped away by the anticipation of teaching an American the joys of tea.

“You’re distracting me from my original purpose!” Julianna exclaimed suddenly.

“What would that be?” Matt asked, stirring two sugars and a dash of milk lazily into his own tea as she waited for hers to cool.

“I wanted to apologize on behalf of George.” Julianna sighed. “He was out of line today.”

Matt arched an eyebrow at her. “Are you apologizing because he feels bad or because you feel bad?”

“Because I feel bad.” She admitted. “It stinks to have your accomplishments put down to dumb luck.”

“Whatever he could say,” Matt took a sip of his tea, smacking his lips to give himself a little more time to think and a little more time for his mouth to cool. “My mother and father have said worse.” He finished his sentence and took another swig of tea.

“That doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt.” Julianna said softly.

“That’s true.” Matt said carefully. “But you become so desensitized to it once people close to you say it over and over again that when someone you barely know says it it’s old hat.” He bit his lip thoughtfully before continuing. “And, no offense to George, but I care a lot more about my parents’ opinions than his.”

“My tea’s cool, I think.” Julianna changed subject abruptly.

“Take a sip.” Matt instructed. Julianna obeyed.

“Too bitter.” She announced. Matt handed her a packet of sugar, and she dumped it in without another word, taking another sip after the sugar was dissolved.

“Perfect.” Julianna announced, taking another sip and humming in approval.

“You’re easy to please.” Matt commented, stowing the milk back in his fridge. “Sorry I haven’t unpacked.” He apologized. “I don’t really like these mugs.” He lifted his mug a little off the counter. “They’re boring.”

“Do you really care that much about your mugs?” Julianna laughed.

“Mugs are a symbol of status in Britain.” Matt teased. “The cuter the mugs, the better a person you are.”

“So I assume your mugs are all ugly as hell?” Julianna joked.

“Oi!” Matt exclaimed. “My mugs are _beautiful_ , thank you very much.”

The doorbell interrupted their banter.

“Is it a common thing in L.A. to pay house calls at eleven at night?” Matt asked over his shoulder as he began to limp out of the kitchen and towards the front door.

“No.” Julianna replied, furrowing her eyebrows. “Any ideas?” She asked him, following him to the front door with her mug cradled against her chest.

“Nope.” Matt replied as he swung the door open once again.

Alex was standing there, hands clasped in front of her as she rocked back onto her heels.

“Sorry, it’s really too late to be calling…” She began.

“Nonsense!” Matt cut her off. “Julianna and I were just taking tea, would you like some?”

“It’s eleven o’clock at night.” Alex bit her lip.

“We’re British.” Matt said bluntly.

“I’d love tea.” Alex said with a relieved smile and a chuckle as she followed Matt back into his house.

“So, do you think your mother will actually end up coming here?” Julianna sipped at her tea delicately as she curled back up on her box-chair.

“I hope not.” Matt sighed, putting the kettle on to boil again, adding enough water for three cups, as both his and Julianna’s mugs were empty. “I love her and all, she’s my mother, but isn’t it a little rash to follow your son halfway across the world because you thought he was taking a job because of a flight of fancy?”

“Was it a flight of fancy?” Alex asked.

“No.” Matt replied stubbornly. “I went to college to be an actor. I travelled here for an audition, and did some in Britain as well. It just so happens that this was the part that I got.”

“How’d you audition anyways?” Alex asked. “I kind of got a free ticket.”

“Well, I walked into a room, and they told me to make them cry.” Matt drained his cup and set it down, pondering for a moment. “So I told them a story, and they cried.”

“Obviously you’re a better story-teller when you’re not knackered.” Alex commented drily.

“I’m a better story-teller when the story’s worth being told.” Matt replied, pawing through his boxes for another mug, more tea bags, and sugar.

“What was the story about?” Julianna asked, putting her now empty mug on the counter next to Matt’s.

“My friends.” Matt smiled sadly. “After the Olympics, Aaron and a girl named Laurel were my only real friends. No one knew how to talk to me anymore, you see. Aaron was older, though, and we could really only talk via telephone.” He paused, composing himself. “Laurel was my age. When we were nineteen we went to the same college. When we were twenty one she found out she had ovarian cancer. She got a hysterectomy and went into remission, but a year later the cancer came back, and she…” He took a deep breath and released it. “She didn’t make it. The one year anniversary of her death is in a couple of days, actually.”

He forced a bright smile onto his face as he went about preparing the tea. He hated how they had extracted all the information he swore he wasn’t going to tell them within twenty four hours of meeting him; they were too damn good at getting his guard down.

They drank their tea in silence, not sure what to say to each other.

“Why’d you come by, Alex?” Matt prompted, ending the awkward pause.

“Oh!” She exclaimed suddenly. “I actually wanted to know if you wanted to meet a friend of mine from school – she grew up near where you did, I think. She’s coming down next weekend and when I said you had joined the cast she said she’d like to meet you.”

Matt furrowed his eyebrows, but then shrugged. “Sure, I guess.” He paused. “Is there an ulterior motive to this meeting?” He asked.

“I’m not really sure, to be honest.” Alex sighed. “But she’s a good egg, Matt. It’ll be fun!”

“That’s what they always say.” Julianna grumbled.

“Anyways, I’d better go. Thanks for the tea, Matt!” Alex waved as she left the kitchen, leaving Julianna and Matt alone again.

“Why do I feel like that conversation would have played out differently if I weren’t here?” Julianna mumbled into her cup of tea.

“Probably because it’s true.” Matt muttered. “Though I’m trying to figure out how it _would_ have gone.”

“Dunno.” Julianna shrugged. She glanced down at her watch. “I should probably go, too. It’s getting late, and this probably hasn’t helped your jetlag much.”

Matt gave her a tired smile. “It’s fine. At least now I’ll fall asleep quickly.”

“We’ll talk more about George at some other time?” Julianna made it sound like a question, but it was obviously a command. Matt nodded anyways.

“See you tomorrow, British boy.” Julianna dodged around the counter to give him a quick hug before she, too, departed.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Matt limped up the stairs and fell into his bed, all matters pertaining to George, Laurel, and his mother flying out of his head as soon as his head touched the pillow and blissful sleep spiraled through his veins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! I have never made a cup of tea in my life, so sorry if the bits pertaining to tea making are inaccurate. Just a quick note; this fic will likely cover the real life time between the beginning of season four and the end of season seven of ER. It's set in 2013, so by the end of the fic it will be 2016 - I hope that made sense. I aim for the next chapter to be up by Friday, but Saturday looks more realistic at this point. Hope you enjoyed!


	4. Family Is Good

He woke up to a text on his phone that was far from promising.

_Your mother wants to know if she can get your medals through customs. – A_

He had to resist the urge to hit himself on the forehead, settling for a heavy sigh instead before he allowed his fingers to skitter across the keyboard, not even registering what he was typing.

_Tell her to fuck off and leave me alone. – M_

Six o’clock in the morning was not a good time to deal with Matthew Smith.

 _Matty, this is the woman who birthed you. I can’t tell her to fuck off._ _–A_

Sighing, Matt put his phone down on his bedside table with a loud thump, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. The six and a half hours of fitful sleep he had normally would’ve been satisfactory, but given the fact he was getting sick with worry, in a totally different time zone, and hadn’t slept well the night before, either, he was perhaps even grouchier than when he had gone to bed.

Stumbling down the stairs in a futile attempt to find tea was not much better. He managed to slam his knee into his wall, and the pain of it caused him to tumble involuntarily down the rest of the steps. Luckily it wasn’t a long fall, or he would have even more problems to deal with.

To make it worse, he couldn’t find where he had stashed the rest of his tea, and had to resign himself to drinking a cup of black coffee. It was perhaps worse than his mother’s imminent arrival.

Plodding back up the stairs with the dirty taste of coffee still on his tongue, Matt leapt into the shower, staying under the cold spray only long enough to rub a froth of shampoo into his hair and wash it out, throwing on a faded t-shirt and jeans, grabbing his phone from his night stand as he slid down the railing of his stairs, sparing himself the suffering of putting any more weight on his knee. Perhaps he should go back to the crutches, he mused.

Arriving at the studio, he had an even better idea. As soon as he got through the doors, he inverted himself, script in between his teeth as he slowly but surely walked on his hands towards the table where everyone was congregated, arching his back so he could still see where he was going.

Once he reached the table, he was faced with the challenge of getting from a handstand into a chair. Considering carefully, he stood in front of his chair before flicking his legs the rest of the way over. Miraculously, he was able to land in his chair, and removed his script from his mouth, settling it in front of him.

“Sometimes I wonder if you try to show off or if you’re just naturally talented.” Julianna’s voice surprised him, and he startled a bit before settling himself back into his chair.

“I didn’t want to walk upright.” Matt replied, flipping his script open to the appropriate page. “So I compromised.”

“Crutches would’ve cramped your style.” George added with an eye roll from across the table.

“Crutches are annoying as hell.” Matt sniffed. His bad mood, temporarily erased, was coming back with all guns blazing.

“Use the gifts you have.” Alex said sagely. Matt offered her a tired smile.

“I have a question for you before we start, if you don’t mind.” Matt yawned, stretching his arms back behind him. “How the hell do you drink coffee?”

“It’s quite simple.” Gloria said, voice serene. “You take the cup, put it against your lips, and slurp.” She chuckled softly, and Matt smiled at her. From what Matt had learned of Gloria, she was quiet and reserved, and the joke seemed out of the character he had built for her. Like many other things, he’d need to reconsider her.

“It tastes like shit.” Matt said bluntly.

“Then why’d you drink it?” George snapped.

“I couldn’t find tea and I need caffeine to function?” Matt asked, narrowing his eyes at George.

“Caffeine is a necessity of life.” Tony leapt into the conversation deftly, diffusing the tension easily. “It just so happens that our friends across the pond prefer a milder taste to their caffeinated beverages.”

Shooting one more poisonous look at Matt, George turned back to his script, and not long after their second read-through began. The next day would be the advent of their blocking, and the day following would be their first dry run of the episode. The fact the episode would be live both excited and terrified Matt; he hoped his knee and ankle would be able to hold up to the constant movement, and that he would remember his lines.

Good God, he hoped he remembered his lines.

Lunch came around quickly, and Matt waited until everyone else had left their read-through table to lay his stomach across the chair, churning his legs in the air to shift all of his weight into his hands. It was a less than graceful maneuver, and he was double glad everyone else had already gone on their ways.

Moving with more confident strides, Matt soon caught up with the rest of his co-stars. They didn’t seem to mind that they were talking to his feet, not his head, as they walked, chatting companionably about the weather and other such things that people talked about when there was nothing better to be said.

Repeating his previous motion to seat himself, Matt set his elbows on the table and propped his head up on his hands. Despite having nothing but coffee for breakfast, he wasn’t hungry; according to his body, he should be getting ready to go to sleep, and that didn’t require any eating.

Nevertheless, he found half of an orange shoved into his hand. He rolled his eyes at Alex, the shover of the orange, but ate it to appease her. She seemed to see that as conceding to eat anything she put in front of him, so somehow he ended up with half of Gloria’s tuna fish sandwich, which Alex had pillaged with puppy dog eyes and a few pleaded words, a handful of grapes that Julianna had insisted on giving him, and a plastic bowl of tomato soup that Tony had insisted was ‘no problem’ to get rid of.

Their smiles, and their insistence on pushing food on him (especially healthy food, which he was forever grateful for – he didn’t want to have to refuse crisps) warmed him. It was almost like when he was young and his mother insisted on making him eat before his gymnastics meets.

He preferred this sort of family to his biological one. And it was true – he had gained a family already. As he hobbled back to the read-through table, not wanting to bother with walking on his hands, Matt smiled to himself. Family was good, even if a bit insane.

That didn’t make him feel any better about picking his mother up from the airport, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is later than I expected, and to all the American readers, happy Super Bowl Sunday (go Sea Hawks!)


	5. Oversight

_Please save me. – M_

The one text, sent to Alex, was Matt’s only chance of reprieve from the awkward silence that was swelling in his house. He hadn’t had time in the morning to unpack any of the boxes that were scattered around the first floor.

As he shot a cautious half-glance at his mother, Matt hefted her bag over his shoulder, half-running up the stairs in an effort to hide his limp. He knew his mother would comment on it, and he didn’t want to have to explain why he was still doing gymnastics on such a level where he would be injured while he was being paid to be an actor.

He dropped the bag at the foot of the bed in the room that was now designated as his guest room (he hadn’t really been sure what it would have been otherwise), he turned to see his mother in the doorway.

Looking at her warily, Matt nodded once before moving past her, forgetting to hide his limp as he walked out into the hallway, favoring his left leg more than slightly. His mother opened her mouth, as if to say something, but he sighed heavily at her, cutting off whatever she was planning.

He looked at the staircase, sighing again as he approached the top step. Flipping himself onto his hands, having found that the easiest way to travel with his injured limb, Matt scrambled quickly down the stairs. He was dimly aware of his mother following him like a lost puppy, but he didn’t want to talk to her. He thought he had made that clear, but maybe he wasn’t exuding _enough_ hatred. Perhaps hatred was too strong of a word, but then again, maybe it wasn’t. Six years of never contacting your son was a bit excessive to Matt, especially considering the reasons why – reasons he didn’t want to have to explain to anyone, but would probably have to.

Senselessly, Matt put on the kettle, adding enough water for three cups of tea. Hopefully Alex would be by for tea, and if not, he could just drink two cups of tea very, very quickly. If only he hadn’t sworn off alcohol when Laurel got sick. Then he could’ve added a bit of relaxant to his tea in the form of vodka.

The doorbell rang just as the kettle whistled, and Matt found himself torn. His mother hesitated, unsure if she was expected to do one of the jobs, and Matt quickly began hobbling towards the door. He didn’t want to know the assumptions his mother would draw about a woman being at his door, especially at nine o’clock in the evening, and if his childhood memories were anything to go by, then his mother was rather good about making tea.

When the door swung open to reveal Alex, Matt sent up a prayer of thanks to whatever god happened to be listening. Scooping her into his arms as she let out a surprised squeak, he pressed his nose into her hair. It wasn’t the most appropriate of greetings, he knew, but he was too grateful to care.

“Thanks for coming.” He mumbled into her curls before pulling away.

“You didn’t sound too thrilled about your mother coming.” She shrugged. “I figured if you needed saving this soon after she came, you _really_ needed saving.”

“You’re amazing, Kingston.” Without thinking, he curled his fingers around hers, tugging her into the kitchen, where his mother was standing, pouring tea methodically into mugs that seemed to have been conjured from thin air. Matt was ninety seven percent sure he didn’t have any pink tea mugs in his collection, and after a brief moment of confusion, he just shook his head, approaching the counter with Alex’s hand in his.

“Matthew.” She hissed, tugging him down so his lips were against his ear. “Is there something I should know about what your mother expects of our relationship?”

Suddenly reminded of both his fingers clutching hers and the platonic nature of their friendship, Matt dropped her hand as if it had caught fire, picking up his mug instead. His mother seemed to be surveying both him and Alex, trying to figure them out, and he was almost tempted to let her believe they were dating, let her believe that acting, if anything, had led him into the arms of a beautiful woman.

He couldn’t do that to Alex, though, especially not after he had made it very, very clear that his mother expected them to be friends. Or perhaps she didn’t know what to expect. It wasn’t like he had talked, or she had asked. All that had passed between them was a tense hello, an obligatory kiss on the cheek, and then stilted quiet.

“Mother.” Matt finally said, eyes flicking between his mum and Alex. “This is Alex Kingston, my friend and co-star. I invited her over for tea.” He explained, trying to gauge his mother’s reaction as she peered at him over the rim of her tea mug.

“It’s nice to meet you, dear.” Lynne finally offered after finishing her tea.

“The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Smith.” Alex smiled. At least he had chosen someone charming, Matt thought as his mother bored holes into him with her eyes.

“Matthew, sweetheart, could you please go get something from my bag?” Lynne asked. “It’s lying right on top, you’ll know what I mean when you see it.”

Confused by his mother’s cryptic tone and guessing that it was probably a ploy for her to talk to Alex alone, Matt looked at his mother for a half a moment more before nodding. He didn’t know what she was going to say to Alex, but he figured either way it could turn out well; if she said something Alex liked, then at least Alex would like his mother, even if he didn’t. If she said something Alex didn’t like, then he wouldn’t be alone in his dislike of his mum.

Making it up and down the stairs in record time, scooping the first object he saw off the top of his mother’s bag (it happened to be a roll of biscuit dough, and he was more than slightly confused), Matt slid into the kitchen only to see Alex nodding along to whatever his mother was saying, apparently deep in conversation.

He cleared his throat nervously, unsure of what he was interrupting and feeling oddly like an intruder in his own home. He offered the roll of biscuit dough to his mother, who gave him a winning smile. Shooting a cautious glance to Alex, he went back to standing behind her.

“Alex and I were just talking about how ridiculous you were as a child.” He may not have spoken to his mother in six years, but he could tell that she was hiding something beneath the plastic-coated tone of her voice. “Remember when you broke your wrist?”

“Which time?” Matt asked, voice tight.

“The first one.” His mother said, fluttering her hands nervously. “When you fell out of the tree!”

He gave his mother a strange look, wondering why she was suddenly interested in the injuries that had seemed like a huge burden at the time of their occurrence.  It was a mystery he didn’t have the time or the energy to even begin solving.

Alex seemed to sense his apprehension, and her hand was soon wrapped in his. She squeezed his fingers in comfort, and he was glad that the counter was masking their movements from his mother. He didn’t want to have to explain away the careful touches that Alex was giving him, like she meant nothing to him. Like he didn’t want there to be Alex-and-Matt, hyphenated and official, like it had always been destined.

The rest of their teatime passed in relatively comfortable silence. Unlike before, Matt could at least get enough air in his lungs to feel like he wasn’t suffocating. Alex’s hand never left his, and he wasn’t sure whether it was an oversight or free will. As much as he desperately hoped for the latter, every logical bit of him insisted it was the former. Alex, now that he looked at it, seemed shaken by whatever his mother had said, and she seemed to need the comfort just as much as he did. An oversight, he insisted to himself. Two days in Los Angeles and she could not be in love with him. It was impossible.

So focused was he on Alex that he didn’t notice when his mother spoke again. He was only able to ascertain what she had said when Alex wished her a good night and she walked towards the staircase, presumably to her temporary bedroom.

“Thank you.” Matt sighed as soon as his mother was out of earshot. “Thank you so much for coming.” He repeated, dropping her hand so he could pull her into a hug.

“Your mother isn’t as bad as I thought she’d be.” Alex blinked at him, as if she was expecting him to comment on that.

“What did you talk about?” He asked. “When I was gone?”

“That’s a discussion for later, dear.” She stood on the tips of her toes again, pressing a kiss to his cheek much like she had the day previous. “Go get some sleep, yeah?”

Just as quickly as she had come, Alex was gone again, and Matt was alone in his too-big house with his mother.

Why had he ever thought letting her stay with him was a good idea?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took so long! It's a bit short and I didn't have time to proofread, so sorry for the mistakes. Hope everyone's enjoying the Sochi Olympics~


	6. Pieces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild tw for self harm and attempted suicide. Nothing graphic, it's just touched on in conversation, but I figured better safe than sorry.

It seemed he was on a steep, indefinitely long downward spiral. Almost as soon as he got out of bed the next morning, his feet slid out from underneath him, unrepentant as he cursed. The only way he was able to catch himself (without the likelihood of breaking his bones) was to slide his left forearm against the carpeting of his bedroom. Sadly enough, the weight of a hundred ninety pounds and five feet eleven inches of skin, muscle, fat, and bone sliding against carpet on a single patch of skin was enough to cause a wicked bad rug burn, and before he knew it, Matt’s arm was beginning to bleed.

“Fuck.” He spat the word out as he pressed his arm against his chest, trying to keep the droplets of blood from staining the carpet as he danced towards the bathroom. Finding the gauze in his medicine cabinet easily, Matt began wrapping his arm; glad that putting the cabinet in order had been one of the few tasks he was able to complete before his mother had arrived.

After tying off the gauze, he changed his clothes quickly, running down the stair as quickly as he could to grab an orange for breakfast before he breezed out the door, the lunch he had packed the night before clutched in his hand. He drove with a determined speed, wrapping his arm in another layer of gauze with the same efficiency before strolling into the door, as if his life hadn’t totally gone to hell in the days previous.

“Hurt yourself again?” Julianna asked as soon as she spotted him, gesturing towards the bandage on his arm with her hand.

“Yeah. Rug burn.” He said sheepishly.

“Only you could get rug burn bad enough to bleed.” Julianna said, bumping her shoulder against his affectionately as she grinned.

“It’s a special skill set, I’ll admit.” Matt joked. “But at least I know what to do in case anyone gets injured!”

“The next time I sprain my wrist I’ll call you.” Julianna rolled her eyes at him.

“Watcha do to your arm, Matt?” Tony appeared out of nowhere, peering over Julianna’s shoulder at the tightly wrapped gauze.

“He got rug burn.” Julianna snickered.

“Rug burn has a lot to do with the weight of the object that is sliding across said rug.” Matt replied indignantly. “And in case you haven’t noticed, I weigh quite a bit.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Julianna gave him an appraising look.

“He hides muscle beneath the loose-fitting T-shirts.” Eriq slid into their conversation effortlessly.

“Muscle’s denser than fat.” Tony agreed. “I’d hate to see exactly how much muscle you hide.”

“Afraid of feeling inadequate?” Julianna teased.

“Some of us don’t need muscles to feel adequate.” George said icily, walking up to stand next to Tony, posture aggressive.

“Some of us don’t feel adequate even with muscles.” Matt challenged, narrowing his eyes at the other man.

“Bullshit.” George spat.

“Whatever you want to think.” Matt sighed, putting his hands up in a surrendering gesture.

“Why are we clustering?” Laura’s head popped up from behind Eriq’s shoulder.

“Matt’s newest injury.” Julianna laughed. “Rug burn.”

“Rug burn can necessitate bandages?” Laura seemed skeptical.

“If you weigh enough it can be painful.” Eriq supplied. “And bleed.”

“One hundred and ninety pounds is enough.” Matt added.

“A hundred and ninety? You?” Julianna raised her eyebrows.

“Muscle is denser than fat!” Tony reminded her.

“Would you like me to take off my shirt and prove it?” Matt asked, voice teasing.

“I wouldn’t object.” Julianna replied coyly. “Let’s put it to a vote, shall we?”

“Oh dear God.” Gloria muttered, stepping into their circle and peering at Julianna with narrowed eyes. “Do I even want to know?”

“No.” George said smartly.

“All in favor of Matt taking his shirt off?” Julianna asked.

“Oh dear God.” Alex repeated Gloria’s earlier sentiment as she appeared behind the other woman.

“That’s what I said.” Gloria whispered, raising her hand nonetheless.

“All opposed?” Julianna continued.

George’s hand went up, but he was alone.

“Must I submit to the will of the democracy?” Matt asked, suddenly embarrassed by his situation.

“Yes.” Julianna said sternly.

Sighing, Matt grabbed the bottom corner of his shirt and tugged it over his head in a quick flick of his wrist.

Julianna whistled.

“I didn’t know people actually looked like that.” Gloria said, sounding slightly awestruck.

“I can feel the inadequacy seeping through my veins.” Tony muttered, smiling good-naturedly despite his protest.

“How’d you get the scar on your collarbone?” Alex asked curiously.

“When I fell out of a tree and broke my wrist, I also broke my collarbone. The bone pierced the skin.” Matt replied smoothly. Of all the things to notice, she saw the collarbone scar? It made him slightly uneasy, but she didn’t press the subject, so he didn’t either.

“Normally muscles disgust me.” Eriq said conversationally. “But I think you’re dancing the line between chiseled and creepy quite well.”

“Thanks, I suppose.” Matt smiled, unfolding his T-shirt so he could slip it back over his head. “The whole Olympian thing was really useful in learning how to become strong.”

“I’d imagine so.” Eriq nodded.

“It also helps with the being shirtless around other people thing.” Matt joked. “After millions of people have seen your fifteen-year-old self’s naked torso, suddenly it doesn’t seem so strange to just take your shirt off at a whim.”

“Or on demand.” Eriq agree, laughter lacing his voice.

They continued with their witty banter, back and forth, until they were called to their table to do the final read through before they began blocking after lunch.

“Your leg seems to be getting better.” Alex said conversationally as they sat down at the table.

“I just move from one injury to another seamlessly.” Matt winked at her, and Alex gave him a wary look, something obviously on her mind. He blinked at her once, and she broke away from his gaze, uncomfortable with his prolonged eye contact. Whatever was eating her seemed to be a less-than pleasant subject, and he had an inkling as to what it might be.

The thoughts of Alex were pushed away as he slipped into his character’s shoes, but returned like a tidal wave as soon as the read through finished and they were walking to lunch.

“What’s eating you?” He asked, hoping to keep the intensity he felt inside from entering his voice, striving for a conversational sort of tone.

“Later, Matt.” Alex sighed, skipping ahead a few steps so she could ask Eriq something about a scene they had together. Matt furrowed his eyebrows, but sat quietly through lunch with Alex shooting him anxious glances from across the table.

“What’s going on?” Julianna mumbled into Matt’s ear as Alex looked hurriedly at him again. She probably thought she was being more covert than she was, Matt thought, unable to be amused despite the rather funny thought.

“Hell if I know.” He responded, meeting Alex’s nervous gaze for a half a moment before she looked away.

As soon as they were finished for the day, Matt managed to corner Alex before she could scurry away to the parking lot and put off the conversation she obviously wanted to have with him.

“Do you want me to take off the bandages?” He asked her abruptly. “Do you need to double check and make sure my story’s valid?” He continued. “Because I’ll do it.”

She looked up at him, tension obvious in her frame, before nodding slowly. He kept his eyes steady on her, gaze no less than venomous as he grabbed one end of the gauze, unrolling it with quick movements until the scrape-like texture of the rug burn on his forearm was revealed.

“Happy?” He couldn’t help but spitting.

“Matt.” She sighed. “I just wanted to check. It’s okay that you –”

“I didn’t do anything, Alexandra.” He hoped he sounded cold, because he should. He had a right to. His mother only met one person, one of the first friends he had made once in America, and she had already ruined it with half-baked truths and misconceptions that had ruined their mother-son relationship in the first place. He hadn’t expected their conversation to be about _that_ , not until Alex had looked so concerned to see a bandage surrounding his wrist in the morning. “I never did anything.” He reiterated.

“Your mum said she found a noose in your bedroom, Matt.” Alex protested. “People don’t keep nooses in their bedrooms if they’re not planning to use them.” She paused. “Especially not hidden underneath their beds. Don’t you think that’s a little bit morbid?”

“It wasn’t mine!” Matt fired back. “Not that she’d bother to tell you that, because she never bothered to ask me about it. Just pitched a fit to my father, until they both believed I was depressed and suicidal!” This wasn’t something he should be saying, especially not on the set where he was going to be working. He had promised himself he wasn’t going to talk about it, but like all those other promises, they had gone out the window.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Alex tried again.

“The press ate me alive for a noose that wasn’t even mine, Alex.” Matt sighed. “I couldn’t leave my house for three months, because every time I did they’d find a way to photoshop bandages onto my wrists or bruises on my neck. _I did not try to kill myself, Alex_.”

“Why’d you have the noose, then?” She asked.

“Why do you think I had the noose?” Matt answered her question with one of his own. When she failed to respond, he exhaled softly. “It wasn’t mine.” He repeated. “And if I hadn’t taken it, then someone I loved would have died.” He pivoted on his heel, bandages still clutched in his fist. He didn’t want to think about it anymore. Even the short argument-conversation they had was sending fear rushing through his veins, and tears were prickling at the backs of his eyes.

“If it was yours.” Alex began carefully, talking to his back. “Then I wouldn’t blame you for it.”

“It wasn’t mine.” Matt said a third time. “Why would I lie to you about it?”

“I lied.” Alex said simply.

Matt’s muscles began to shake, and he forced himself to take a shaky step, ignoring the pain in his leg. Not Alex. Anyone but Alex.

“I have to go.” Matt whispered. The information had been like a punch in the gut, and he wasn’t sure if he could face her. It had been too much all at once, the realization and the denial and all the things he _hadn’t_ said that she had probably guessed. The fact that he still had the same noose, and still didn’t intend on using it on himself.

He walked as quickly as he could away from her, registering the fact she said something after him, but not quite catching the words. He couldn’t deal with it. Dealing with coming home to his mother was going to be a trial enough, especially considering it was not going to be a pleasant homecoming.

With a click of her fingers, or rather, a few well-placed words, his mother had once again shattered his life into a million pieces. The friendships he had were so fragile that he wasn’t sure if they could withstand even the suggestion of the information.

There was a reason he was at odds with his parents, his mother especially, and this was exactly it. He got into his car and let out another heavy breath, laying his forehead against the steering wheel and trying to hold himself together.

He wasn’t sure if he even had the strength to make it home in one piece.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Olympics continue! I was so sad to see the Russian male figure skater (not even going to attempt to type his name) had to pull out due to back problems. Hope you guys liked the chapter, thanks for all of your lovely support thusfar!


	7. Annaliese Stark

Despite his fears, Matt managed to hold himself together long enough to get home. The short walk from his car to his front door, the time it took to unlock his front door with the key, and stepping inside was a little bit harder. He could feel himself fracturing, peeling apart on the inside, but he couldn’t break down. That would be just what his mother wanted. She would see his moment of weakness as an admission of sickness, sickness he didn’t have. He wasn’t suicidal. He had to repeat it over and over to himself, because sometimes his mum was so damn persuasive that he had thought that maybe, just maybe, he might have considered, once or twice, using the noose on himself.

But he hadn’t. He hadn’t then, and he didn’t now, either.

His mother met him at the door, and all he could do was glare at her. He didn’t want to say anything, for fear of getting angry, or worse, breaking down. It was only six o’clock, and he hadn’t eaten dinner, but he headed for his bedroom anyways. He felt like a moody teenager, locking the door behind him as he flopped onto the bed, burying his head in his hands.

Everything had gone to hell. He needed to take a moment to process that. Julianna knew that something was wrong between Alex and him, and that meant that the rest of the cast did, too. As much as he thought highly of himself, he was pretty sure if it came to a situation where sides had to be chosen, Alex would get much more support.

Sighing, Matt pressed himself up into a sitting position. As much as he wished it to be so, moping was not going to help clear his head. There was only one thing that was proven to do that, and Matt sighed. He knew where a gym was – he had picked this house because there was one just down the street – but he wasn’t sure if it was exactly healthy that doing gymnastics, particularly dangerous gymnastics, was the only way for him to de-stress.

He decided that this moment was not the time to ponder whether or not his habits were healthy. He stood up mechanically, fishing through his closet to find his workout clothes. He exchanged his baggy T-shirt for one that clung to his skin and wouldn’t get in his face when he went upside down.

He didn’t bother to tell his mother that he was leaving the house. She could hear the door slam from the kitchen, he was sure. In the few minutes it took for him to get from his house to the gym, Matt could feel himself beginning to fall apart again.

That changed the moment he walked through the doors. Familiar equipment lined the walls, and the smell of deodorant and padded mats welcomed him, wrapping around him and calming him almost instantly. Despite the time of night, the gym was almost empty. All he had to do was check in, and he was in, on the floor, looking around and trying to decide where to go first.

“Excuse me?” An unfamiliar voice, distinctly female, appeared at his left shoulder. He braced himself for having to answer a million questions he really didn’t feel like answering. He turned around to face it, anyways, and found a small, blonde haired girl standing there, peering up at him with watery blue eyes.

“You dropped these.” She said, offering him two strips of cloth that, once unfurled, revealed themselves to be his wrist supports. He smiled tiredly at her, thanking her, and she scampered away, either unaware of who he was or too polite to ask for autographs in the safe haven that was the gym.

He wrapped his wrists carefully, using the extra time the action provided him with to decide what he wanted to do. He headed towards the horizontal bar with quick, careful strides. It was funny, now that he was surrounded by blue mats and the ceiling wasn’t suffocatingly low, the pain in his knee was nonexistent. His ankle still tingled a little, but it was nothing that he couldn’t handle. After slathering his hands in chalk, blowing off the excess, and kicking his shoes off to the side of the mat, he stood beneath the bar.

He could see the little blonde girl watching him out of the corner of his eye, and had to resist the urge to wave to her. That settled the question as to whether or not she knew who he was. Obviously she was waiting for him to begin, and he couldn’t keep her waiting, now could he?

He bent his knees slightly in order to get the necessary jump needed to grab the horizontal bar, which was only about nine feet above the ground. He adjusted his grip on the bar, bouncing his weight twice in order to get used to the elasticity of the bar. It was stiffer than some of the others he’d trained on, but he honestly preferred the stiffer ones; it was quite honestly scary when you grabbed onto a bar after completing a flip and it bent like it was about to snap.

He swung his hips back and forth a few times, gaining enough momentum to release his hands, flip once, and come back down. It was simple enough, and he was glad that it felt normal still. Of all of the Olympic sports he had competed in, the horizontal bar was his second favorite (right after floor routine), and he hadn’t been able to practice it as much as he would have preferred.

More confident, Matt swung back once more, and when he released the bar, flipped twice before landing, swinging atop the bar and reversing his hands in a smooth movement. It felt good to move, and already the pieces in him that had shaken apart inside of him were falling back together.

Several flips later (many of which were Olympic caliber, if he did say so himself), Matt was calm and ready to let go of the bar. Hoping he had enough momentum to do his trick of choice, Matt released the bar and flipped three times, twisting clockwise twice as he did so. He bent his knees to soften the landing, stepping back a bit to catch the momentum the mat hadn’t absorbed. He could hear Aaron’s voice in his head, chiding him for his sloppy form, and chuckled to himself.

He looked over to see the young girl watching him. When she realized he knew she was observing, she began clapping. He lifted his arm in recognition of her, almost wishing that she would come talk to him. The adrenaline coursing through him was already faltering, and he knew that soon the reality of his situation, which hadn’t gotten any better despite his impressive gymnastic skills.

Apparently, something or someone was granting his wishes, because she scrambled down from the bleacher she was perched on to approach him.

“Oh my god!” She enthused. “I didn’t think you were actually him, but you are, aren’t you!” Almost as soon as she said that, she slapped a hand over her mouth.

“It’s okay.” Matt laughed, amused by her evident horror at what she had done.

“Sorry.” The girl apologized. “My mom said that if you ever met a celebrity that you shouldn’t mention they’re a celebrity in case they don’t like it.”

“Well, lucky for you I’m not a celebrity.” Matt said with a wink. “Because you see, _my_ mum told me that you’re only a celebrity for about five years after you do something worth celebrating. And, since I’m assuming you’re talking about the Olympics, that was nine years ago. Therefore I’m no longer a celebrity.” He explained.

The girl smiled.

“Now, since I am not a celebrity and you are not a celebrity, do you suppose maybe we could be friends?” He asked, arching an eyebrow.

Her eyes widened at that.

“My mom says I can’t be friends with strangers.” She said slowly. “And I’m thirteen years old, but just this once I might listen to my mom.”

Matt let out a big belly laugh. “Well, if you tell me your name, and I tell you mine, will we no longer be strangers?”

“I suppose so.” The girl agreed. “My name’s Annaliese Stark.”

“I’m Matt Smith.” Matt extended his hand for the little girl to shake. It wasn’t exactly a conventional means of making friends, and he was pretty sure if she wasn’t a fan of his it would be considered some sort of criminal offense, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Now, tell me Annaliese,” Matt began, “Are you a gymnast?”

“Why else would I be here?” She asked. Matt chuckled at that – she was a bit fierier than he had originally thought. Obviously her shyness had been related to who he was than who she was.

“I don’t know. Maybe you like the food?” Matt joked, gesturing towards the snack bar with his head. He stepped back into his shoes, frowning at his chalky hands before smearing the chalk on his T-shirt. He needed to wash it anyways, and he also needed to get the chalk off his hands – it was a win-win.

“I was going to go to the Olympics.” Annaliese said wistfully. “But then I hurt my back and had to have surgery.”

Matt frowned at that. “You’re still young enough that you can keep going, can’t you?” He asked.

“No.” She shook her head. “I can’t even do a backbend anymore.” She explained. “Mostly I just come to the gym so that I can see other people doing what they love.” She added sadly.

“I’m sorry to hear that, kiddo.” He sighed. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t really like the Olympics.”

“That’s easy for you to say.” Annaliese snorted. “You already won them.”

“That’s exactly why I _can_ say that.” Matt explained. “I’m not bitter because I won literally everything I could there, and I still hate them.”

Annaliese looked wryly at him. “I guess that does make me feel a little bit better.”

“Well, then how about you and I can dislike the Olympics together, over ice cream?”

Annaliese nodded, smiling broadly.

That was how, at seven o’clock on a Thursday night, Matt Smith ended up eating chocolate ice cream on the bleachers of gymnasium beside a thirteen year old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is sort of a filler chapter and didn't answer any of the questions I originally meant it to - oops? This was a little bit rushed because I wanted to get it up to celebrate AO3's 1 million works (!!), so sorry I guess?


	8. Uphill

He did not speak to his mother in the morning as he was preparing to go to the studio for the day; there had been a change of plans, and they were now shooting the episodes back-to-front, finishing with their live episode in September. They were going to be shooting from September to September, with a two month break in the middle. Matt wasn’t honestly sure how that would work, but he figured someone must have thought up the plan, and a lot of other someones must’ve approved it. At least the new schedule meant that they’d be getting more time in read throughs, which would hopefully be enough to repair the little bit of pain that was left in his knee after the near-magic healing in the gym the night previous.

“Matthew.” His mother sighed as he busied himself in the kitchen. “I know you’re not going to speak to me, but I’m going to talk to you anyway.” She took a pause, as if he was actually going to dignify that with a response.

“I’m worried about you, Matty.” He flinched at the use of his old pet name, the one that only Aaron used any more. His mother had only referred to him as Matthew for so long, and he hadn’t spoken to his father or his sister since Laurel had died. Laurel had been particularly fond of calling him Matty. He clenched his fist, trying to bite back the anger of his mother calling him Laurel’s nickname. It had been his mother’s first, but she had revoked all right to it when she had practically disowned him as a son.

“You don’t smile any more, Matt.” She continued. He opened his mouth to response before shutting it slowly. He wasn’t going to argue with her. “Your mouth curves upwards, but you don’t smile. You haven’t since Laurel died.”

She actually said it. She actually had to rub salt in the wound and remind him that Laurel was dead.

“Alex is going to keep you safe, Matt.” His mother informed him after a long pause which was obviously taken in case he decided to respond to the below the belt blow. His mother said Alex was going to keep him safe, but what Matt heard was that Alex was going to be his watchdog. He wasn’t sixteen anymore. He didn’t need someone to breathe down his neck trying to find out about suicidal tendencies that didn’t exist.

“I’m going to work now.” Matt announced, picking up a satchel that he had fished out of a box after coming back from the gym the night previous. He had stuffed his lunch into the bag, along with the script of the episode they’d be reading for, and hopefully blocking, that day.

“What time will you be home?” His mother asked. He shot her a withering glance before shutting the door behind himself and stepping into the warm September air.

Entering the studio sucked what little happiness he had been able to muster on the drive over out of him. The looks that were shot in his direction were slightly scared, most definitely steely, and a little bit angry, as well. It was not a conversation he wished to have, and he wondered why Alex had to tell them all. Next thing he knew they’d all be questioning his injuries. He had purposefully left the rug burn unbandaged, mostly out of spite and to show her she had been wrong.

He moved slowly, the awkward grace he had achieved with his still injured knee replaced with a plain awkward gait that left him feeling even more scrutinized as he sat down, silence echoing through the room.

“Do you really hate the Olympics?” Gloria asked, the only one brave enough to broach a totally different subject than the one he had thought would arise.

“Yes.” He answered shortly, recalling his conversation with Annaliese the day before.

 _I hate what they did to me, and what I had to give up to be there_.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit ungrateful of you to announce it publicly?” Gloria prodded.

“I didn’t announce anything.” Matt replied, sighing as he fished out his script, surveying the room with a wary gaze.

“Then how did the Los Angeles Times find out?” Gloria retorted stubbornly.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” That sounded like a guilty person’s thing to say, Matt thought listlessly, but he couldn’t bring himself to solve the puzzle. Too much was on his mind already, between the new city and the new house and the new job and the new people and his mother and the anniversary of Laurel’s death looming just a few days away.

“Somebody thought it was a big deal.” George informed him tartly. “It made the front page.”

“I don’t get newspapers and I have no idea what you’re saying.” Matt reiterated, flipping open his script in hopes that it would be a cue to stop the conversation.

It didn’t work.

“According to the Times, you talked with one of their interviewers and admitted that you hate the Olympics. Apparently you’re very two-faced, though, because you also said that you wouldn’t go back and change what happened to you.” Gloria said.

“I didn’t talk to any interviewer.” Matt flipped the page, hoping that the angry slap of paper against paper would at least be a warning that he was not in the best of moods, getting even worse as their conversation (or rather, information session) wore on.

“Well, it says here –” Gloria began.

“To be honest, I don’t care what it says.” Matt snapped. “I _do_ hate the Olympics but I wouldn’t go back and change it. What happened made me who I am and I am stronger for it.” He puffed out a breath of air through his nose. “If you ever happen to be curious about any aspect of my life, feel free to ask me instead of Googling it, please.”

“Alright then.” Alex said, voice just as biting. “Why didn’t you tell us you were gay?”

“I’m not gay.” Matt replied, voice shaking with the effort of keeping it at a normal volume.

“I do happen to recall an article back home with the headline ‘Matt Smith: I Am Gay’.” Alex remarked.

“Did you ever actually read the article?” Matt asked, trying to keep the anger and hurt out of his voice.

“The headline said enough for me.” Alex sniffed.

“Well, I’m not gay.” Matt reiterated.

“So they lied?” Alex pressed.

“They twisted my words and made it into a better story.” Matt sighed.

Alex opened her mouth to say something else, but was cut off by the director prancing into the room, oblivious to the tension that crackled in the air.

As they read through the script, Matt had to muster up every happy thought he had saved for a rainy day in order to make it to the end. Everyone else was having a rather awful time of it, but of course he was happy when he wanted to read the angry, tear-jerking, _raw_ scenes.

Lunchtime was no better than the morning. He didn’t want to bother with any more questions, nor did he want to isolate himself, and decided to go with the lesser of the two evils, sliding into the seat next to Julianna and taking out his small lunch.

“I hate the Olympics. Took them nine years to figure that one out?” He muttered, half to himself and half to Julianna.

“I’m still not exactly sure why you hate them.” Julianna said, voice carefully neutral.

“Because they broke me. I have not been Matt Smith for nine years. I have been Matt Smith, first male to do a gold-medal sweep in artistic gymnastics, for all that time. And it hurts, to have everything you are replaced with a number when it happened so long ago.”  He heaved out a breath, letting a bit of his anger seep out.

“And you chose acting as your backup job?” Julianna asked. “Honey, all we are is numbers to them. How many movies we’ve made and how many episodes we’ve starred in and how many roles we’ve had and how much they’re paying us.”

“At least I have something to show for it.” Matt growled. “All I have from the Olympics are a few disks of gold that are mounted on a wall in my old room.”

“The press is brutal.” Julianna persisted.

“You think I don’t know that?” He barked out a laugh. “If you think I’m going to be a rubbish actor, then feel free to say so. Don’t make excuses.”

Julianna winced. “This isn’t a good day for you, is it?”

“Far from it.” He sighed, suddenly feeling bad for taking his anger out on the one person who didn’t seem to have it out for him today.

“It gets better.” Julianna promised.

“I know.”

With that, Julianna turned back to the rest of the conversation, letting herself get caught up in the voices of the other actors. Matt didn’t dare take the plunge himself; if he stayed quiet, then maybe they’d forget he was even there.

The theory seemed to work. He ate his lunch and kept careful track of the parts of the conversation he could hear. As far as he could tell, they were discussing American football. The only thing that perplexed him about the discussion was the fact that Alex seemed to be contributing just as much as the others, even though Matt was fairly sure she didn’t know a lick about the sport.

“It’s a strategically advantageous move!” George argued.

“It’s not strategic, it’s brutal.” Alex retorted.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to agree with George here.” Tony jumped into the conversation. “They need to see what he can do, and subjecting him to that will show them.”

“There are better ways to find out his skills than torture.” Alex insisted stubbornly.

“Stop being melodramatic.” Gloria rolled her eyes. “It’s not torture. And it doesn’t last very long anyways.”

“It’s not ethically proper.” Julianna put in. “At least not in my opinion.”

Matt shrugged to himself after that statement and pulled out his phone, glancing quickly to see if he had any messages from Aaron before browsing the Internet lazily, not wanting to bother with trying to decode what the hell they were talking about.

No one pushed him any more on the Olympics or on his sexuality, and for that he was glad. He didn’t see the need to justify himself to his cast mates, and desperately hoped that even though Alex seemed a bit pissed off at him, she wasn’t  going to spread the suicidal rumor as well. He was fighting an uphill battle as it was.

It only got worse from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! This chapter has been awful for me to write and didn't answer as many questions as I hoped - again. BUT! I really had to get this up because I wanted to add a note to the last chapter but felt bad editing it. So, a note for the last chapter: please, please have a spotter when you do gymnastics, especially things like bars where you have a risk of falling. Matt was not being smart when he did skills without a spotter. Bad Matt.


	9. Antagonization

Saturday was perhaps the most miserable day off he had ever endured. His mother continued to try to speak with him in stilted tones that did nothing to help his ever-decreasing mood. Thankfully by lunchtime she had finished with him, and just as Matt was about to settle down for a nap, his mobile buzzed.

“Hullo?” He answered wearily. His phone hadn’t recognized the number, and normally he wouldn’t have answered, but exchanging contact information with the cast had not been top on his list of priorities, and he worried it was one of them.

“Hi, Matt!” Her voice was so cheery he almost groaned. After the display of utter cattiness yesterday, he wasn’t really sure where he stood on Alex Kingston. Everyone seemed to be painting an image of themselves they wanted him to see, and then another one of who they actually were. In Alex’s case, the two were significantly different.

“Hi, Alex.” He sighed.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” She asked, voice suddenly worried.

“No, no.” He insisted. “What did you want?”

“That friend I was telling you about the other day – the one who was supposed to fly in next weekend – decided she wanted to come this weekend instead. I wondered if you’d still want to have lunch. In, say, a half an hour?”

 _Good going with the early notice, Kingston._ He thought to himself bitterly.

“Yeah, sure.” He replied. “Where?”

“Um, there’s a little café that’s actually right down the road from you. It’s called The Mayflower.”  The more she was talking, the more nervous he became. Not the good, butterflies from seeing her nervous, but the bad, knot in his stomach nervous.

“I’ll be there.” He hung up without any further explanation.

Alex Kingston was a conundrum that he didn’t really want to put the energy into solving with everything else swirling around him like a hurricane. Suddenly he wasn’t interested in her. Well, perhaps that was a lie; he was interested in her, still, but he wasn’t interested in pursuing her. Probably for the better, in the long run, he tried to tell himself.

That was something to brood about on a later date.

He got changed quickly, unsure what sort of attire to wear, and settling for business casual. Business casual, for him, turned out to be a faded T-shirt that had probably once had a logo on it and cargo pants. So really not business at all, erring on the side of entirely casual.

Swinging through the door and into the café, he spotted her curls almost instantly, and had to push down the dread that enveloped him as he twisted through the tables towards her.

“Hullo, Kingston.” He forced a smile, and she turned around to face him with a genuine smile on her face. She was sunburned, he noticed; her cheeks were red-tinged and he wondered what she had done in the morning to get that sunburned that quickly.

“Matt.” Her grin got even bigger, and he was desperately confused. What happened to the woman who had frigidly insisted the day before that he was gay, that had glared green-tinted daggers at him over lunch? What happened to the woman who had worried that he was going to off himself if she turned her back? He was trying to keep up with the ever-changing moods of Alex Kingston, and it wasn’t working out well for either party.

“This is my friend, Jennifer Granby, and her daughter, Laurel.”

Alex continued talking, but he stopped listening at the name of the little girl who was standing beside her mother, clutching at a large hand with her small, chubby fingers. His breath was caught in his throat, and his mind flipped through the calendar. Two days, the voice in his head reminded him, and he simply couldn’t shake the feeling that had been clinging to him since yesterday night. His life had gotten so very complicated, so very quickly, and he had a raincloud hanging over his head.

It would’ve been a comical thought if he couldn’t feel the shadow all the time.

“Matt?” His name jerked him back to reality, and he pried the corners of his lips up into a poor attempt at a smile, snapping his head so he was facing Alex.

“Sorry, I got lost a little. What were you saying?” He asked, attempting to make his voice sound at least a little bit apologetic.

“I was saying that Jenn went to RADA with me. Laurel’s three.” She supplied helpfully.

“It’s nice to meet you both.” He sounded like he was being strangled, even to his own ears, and he saw Jenn and Alex both giving him strange looks.

“What have you been doing with your day off?” Jenn asked politely.

“Arguing.” Matt answered bluntly. “Yourself?”

“We went to the beach.” Alex laughed. “It’s September and still warm enough to wear a bikini! It’s kind of strange.”

“It’s always warm enough to wear a bikini if you’re brave enough.” Jenn chuckled from across the table.

“Touché.” Alex wrinkled her nose at Jenn. This was the Alex Kingston that had met first, the one that he desperately hoped she actually was. It was too early to let his guard down, though, especially when he was quickly nearing the point of major emotional instability.

“What about swim trunks?” Jenn prodded Matt lightly.

“I was shirtless for the majority of my teenaged years, so I’d tend to agree with the assumption that any temperature is warm enough.” Matt answered candidly.

“You spent most of your teenage years shirtless?” Jenn repeated dumbly.

“I was a gymnast.” Matt clarified. “Shirts get in the way.”

“The costume ladies are going to love you.” Alex smirked.

“Actually, they were giving me an earful about my ‘interesting proportions’ and how it was going to make it difficult to costume me.” Matt replied, cautious smile creeping onto his face.

“After the display from the other day, I wouldn’t be surprised if they let you prance around shirtless.” Alex chuckled.

“After the display yesterday, I’m not really sure if anyone else would enjoy it.” Matt bit out. The words sounded harsher out loud than they did in his head, and he shot Jenn a guilty look for putting her in the middle of an argument that belonged to him and Alex alone.

“What display yesterday?” Alex asked, furrowing her eyebrows and biting her lip.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were gay?” Matt mocked her voice as best as he could, still failing miserably, shooting another glance at Jenn, who seemed more engrossed in feeding her toddler than the actual argument that was occurring.

“That was – oh, bugger.” Alex sighed. “I’m not allowed to tell you.”

Matt arched an eyebrow at her.

“It’s complicated.” She argued with a pout.

“I’m sure it is.” He deflected smoothly.

“Jennifer.” Alex begged, exasperated.

“Alexandra.” Jenn answered back, voice glossy. “Either you tell him, or you do not. There is nothing complicated about it.”

Matt wanted to kiss her.

“Say someone forbade me from telling him. Totally hypothetically, of course?” Alex asked Jenn, shooting Matt a sideways glance.

“Well, it would depend on who they hypothetically were.” Jenn replied steadily.

“Say, hypothetically, they were a person who had a big say in whether or not I kept my job?”  Alex picked at her nails, and Jenn tapped the back of her hand lightly so she would look up.

“It depends on who you’re telling. And how badly they need to know.” Matt could see why Alex and Jenn were such good friends. Where Alex was wild and unsure, Jenn was tame and steadying. She was Alex’s opposite, and they pulled each other in the way they needed to go.

“And if this secret were to potentially due them serious emotional damage?” Alex hedged, looking at Matt again from the corners of her eyes.

“Tell them. Always. Emotional damage is a lot harder to heal than physical.” Jenn snapped her mouth shut as if that closed the argument, turning back to her daughter and beginning to coo as if nothing had just happened.

“The producers want us to test you.” Alex blurted out, turning to Matt. “To see if you could stand what the press would say to you, how everyone would treat you, if someone so young and so fragile would be able to take the pressure.”

“And they intend to do this by having you all give me the cold shoulder?” Matt blinked once at her.

“Not the cold shoulder.” Alex corrected. “They want us to antagonize you. Originally it was only supposed to be George, but then they realized that you weren’t bothered by one person when the rest of us were all being nice to you. They decided Julianna would continue to talk to you as normal so you wouldn’t think it was some sort of set up.”

“A little late for that.” Matt rolled his eyes.

“You’re not angry?” Alex asked.

“Oh, a bit.” Matt shrugged. “There are a lot of things I’m angry at, though, so for the moment I’ll let that one be. Give me a couple more days.”

“Whatever you say, dear.” Alex smiled at him, and then reached over to squeeze his hand.

He offered her a small grin in return.

The rest of the afternoon passed in, thankfully less awkward, conversation, and Matt found himself deciding exactly which Alex Kingston was the real one. He had to admit he was quite pleased that the warm, laughing woman he had first met wasn’t a fake.

And for one little corner of one little afternoon, things were alright again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lot of notes for this bit! (Feel free to read none but the first if you want.)
> 
> 1\. This is going to be the last update for about a week - I'm going to be leaving for a dance competition in a couple days, and then I have essays due the next few days after I come back, making finding the time needed to write a chapter nigh impossible. Just wanted to warn you in advanced.
> 
> 2\. This chapter kind of sucked, but I wanted to get it up because of the aforementioned point.
> 
> 3\. Thank you so much for all your comments and kudos! They really make my day and I love seeing your analysis and opinions on the story. Please, please, please continue!
> 
> 4\. Do you have any suggestions as to how to get more people to read this? I know that a lot of people avoid AUs but I love sharing my work and want to get it out to as many people as possible. Any ideas you have are appreciated!


	10. Ice Cream

Chin up eyes forward chest out shoulders back keep breathing.

He repeated that over and over in his head, walking with careful yet sluggish steps towards the table where about half the cast was sitting, hunched over the script they were reading that day. To be honest, he was glad all he had to do was read. His voice was working (he thought), and it was easy to pretend he was okay when every single move that he made didn’t shout ‘shattered’.

One year ago, Laurel’s heart was beating.

Twelve months ago, Laurel was breathing.

Fifty two weeks ago, Laurel knew how to smile.

Three hundred sixty five days ago, Laurel fought for him.

Eight thousand, seven hundred and sixty hours ago, Laurel was _alive_.

And now she wasn’t, and he hurt.

He sat down at the table without comment, and no one made a move to greet him. They were remarkably good at ignoring him. It was almost preferable to the antagonization. The only trouble was, now he was unsure who actually hated him and who only pretended to hate them, and the silence did nothing to help that.

“Good morning, all!” Julianna said as she settled down next to Matt, looking at him strangely as she did so.

“Good morning, Jules.” He forced out. Her look flashed through confused, sad, and angry before settling on a mix of the three. She leaned over to make a note on his script.

_Are you okay?_

He chewed his lip and shook his head slowly.

 _Can I tell you later?_ He wrote, handwriting swirling across the page beneath hers.

She nodded once and shifted her weight so she wasn’t pressed against him, bowing her head to study the page in front of her.

Alex came shuffling in a few minutes later.

“Did the British stock market crash or something?” Gloria asked, gaze flickering between her and Matt. “You two look like someone died.”

“My marriage died.” Alex huffed.

“My best friend did.” Matt offered in a whisper.

“He’s got you beat.” Julianna told Alex softly.

“Well, this is depressing.” Gloria added meekly. “Sorry I asked.”

“It’s fine.” Matt and Alex responded as one, both heaving sighs after they did so. The synchronicity was enough to bring both of their expressions from melancholy to neutral as they met each other’s eyes for half a second, a silent truce passing between them.

“So.” Laura said. “I propose we all get ice cream instead of working.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s illegal.” George smirked.

“Well, we could work and _then_ get ice cream.” Eriq proposed.

“We don’t want our two favorite Brits to be sad.” Tony nodded.

“Ice cream doesn’t solve everything, but it’s a damn good place to start.” Gloria agreed.

“And wine. Wine’s always good.” Julianna added.

“I don’t drink.” Matt deflected blandly.

“Are you even legal?” George asked. Matt was about to come up with some biting retort when he looked up and saw the older man was smiling teasingly.

“I _might_ be. What’s the age limit in America?” He joked. It was strange how a few mocking words made him feel so much lighter than before.

“Twenty-one.” George laughed.

“Ooh.” Matt winced. “Barely scraping by there.”

Alex visibly paled.

“I’m kidding, Kingston.” Matt said. George guffawed loudly, and was joined in his laughter by the rest of the cast.

“How old are you, then?” Alex asked, arching an eyebrow.

“I was fifteen, turning sixteen, in 2004. Do the math.” Matt smirked.

“That’s twenty-three, turning twenty-four, yes?” Gloria asked.

Matt bobbed his head in a nod. “I was born in late October. Just a few days away from being a Halloween baby.”

“October twenty-eighth.” George put in.

“Yeah – how’d you know?” Matt inquired dubiously.

“I may or may not have Googled you.” George rushed out. “This was before the whole ‘do not look me up as me’ debacle.” He added on sheepishly.

“Oh, ickle Georgey-kins actually cares about our little gymnast boy?” Eriq teased, reaching across the table to pinch George’s cheeks.

“Oh, can it, la Salle. We all know I only did it because –” George cut himself off.

“I know that you did it because you were ordered to.” Matt rolled his eyes. “Never, ever, tell Alex a secret.”

“Well, does this mean we can all be nice again?” Gloria asked. “Because I _really_ don’t like this whole thing. It feels a bit like beating a puppy.”

“A very muscular, very attractive puppy.” Alex added.

“Oh, so you think I’m attractive?” Matt wiggled his eyebrows.

“I said no such thing.” Alex laughed, punching him in the shoulder.

“You sort of did.” George replied mischievously. “A ‘very attractive puppy’, I believe you said.”

“I’m not a puppy.” Matt grumbled.

“You sort of are.” Gloria mumbled guiltily.

“The truths come out!” Noah crowed. “Alex fancies Matt, Matt is really a young animal, what’s next?”

“I do not fancy Matt!” Alex sputtered. “You can find someone attractive without _fancying_ them!”

“Why are we even saying fancy anyways? We’re not in high school.” Matt added.

“Someone’s getting defensive!” Julianna sang.

“If we kissed would you let it go?” Alex asked.

“Now you want to _kiss_ him?” George teased.

“I wouldn’t mind.” Matt mumbled.

“I feel like I’m in high school again!” Tony said giddily. “It’s wonderful!”

“Oh, shut up.” George said, elbowing Tony in the ribs. “It’s more like middle school.”

“Would you all stop behaving like the teenagers you are and read the damn script?” The director chuckled from his position at the head of the table.

“When’d he get here?” Matt muttered to Julianna.

She shrugged, and they began to read.

\---

“Who gets vanilla ice cream?” George scoffed at Matt.

“People who like vanilla!” Matt protested.

“I think vanilla’s fine.” Julianna put in.

“I’m sure _Alex_ doesn’t mind vanilla.” George added.

“ _Alex_ prefers mint ice cream, actually.” The offending person came to stand beside Matt.

“I don’t think Alex would mind kissing Matt even if he had just eaten vanilla ice cream though, would she?” Gloria stuck her tongue out at Alex.

“Oh, shove it!” Alex said. She grabbed Matt’s shoulder, and he managed to hand his ice cream cone to Tony before Alex’s lips collided with his.

He had to admit he rather enjoyed the taste of mint ice cream, and the cheers that erupted when neither of them had the heart to pull away.

He supposed that was all the proof that he needed to say that bad days got better.

Yes, he missed Laurel. Yes, he wished she was alive.

But Alex was here, wasn’t she? Laurel would want him to be happy, and Alex Kingston had ways of making him very, very happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was still kind of iffy on this chapter, but I feel like over-editing would just make it worse. As always, your comments are appreciated!
> 
> *THIS IS BEING PUT ON HIATUS FOR THE TIME BEING. I WILL ATTEMPT TO RESUME AT A LATER DATE*


End file.
